Blame it on Rio

Thirteen years ago today, I met Elaine.

I was on an eighteen-day cruise up the coast of Brazil with a transatlantic passage that would make port in Morocco, Portugal, and Italy.

It did not start well. My first dinner partner on the Costa Pacifica was named Diego. He was a recently graduated lawyer from Buenos Aires who spoke two words of English: “American Express.” As I spoke fewer words in Spanish than he did in English, we did not engage in the delightful shipboard banter I had hoped would accompany my cruise.

For the next two nights, I ate by myself at the pizza buffet. It was lonely, pathetic, and I realized that if I did not change my strategy, I would have a miserable three weeks. I went to the Maître D’ and asked to be seated at a new table where someone spoke English. He was not encouraging. There were few English speakers on board, and most were already sitting together. He could put me at a table with Brazilian lawyers who, while he did not know if they spoke English, might. Would that be okay? I said, “Please.”

I dressed carefully that evening and arrived at the dining room as it opened for the 8 p.m. seating. I was seated and welcomed by three empty chairs. Oh well, I thought, it is early. Five minutes passed, and the dining room began to fill. The seats opposite me remained empty. Ten minutes passed—the dining room was now half full. The chairs opposite me: still vacant. Fifteen minutes passed—the dining room was now full, and of course, the chairs at my table were unoccupied.

Feeling like a loser and resigned to loneliness, I ordered a double vodka martini and prepared myself for an evening of intensive olive therapy. Just as I was dipping my beak into my drink, two women, a redhead and a blonde, took the seats opposite me. They greeted me in Portuguese, then in English, and apologized for being late as they had been detained taking photographs. I was so relieved to be able to speak to someone that I was tongue-tied. They told me that shortly, we would be joined by the third member of their party, who was still having her photograph taken.

I managed to croak out only an “Oh” before the redhead said, “Here comes my sister,” and pointed to a woman making her way to the table. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed as if every spotlight in the restaurant was pointed at this glorious-looking woman with a gigawatt smile who, while making her way to our table, was shaking everyone’s hand as if she were the mayor of the ship.

I stood to greet her, and she introduced herself. The ringing in my ears was too loud, and I could not make out what she said. So, I said, “Pardon me?” And she said, “My name is Elaine.”

Nine months later, we were engaged. Sixteen months later, we were married.

In honor of the thirteenth anniversary of our meeting, it might be a good time to reflect and comment on what I have learned on this journey with Elaine.

First among the things I have learned is gratitude.

There are approximately 200 billion stars in the Milky Way Galaxy. Perhaps 6 billion have the potential for life. In the 13.6 billion years the galaxy existed, I happened to be alive at 0.00000053% of that time. Meeting Elaine on a boat where 0.000025% of Earth’s population happened to means that our meeting was extraordinarily unlikely by any statistic you could possibly imagine. Considering those odds, I am grateful to the universe and whatever higher power runs it for allowing us to meet and fall in love.

I am grateful that we live in a time when people from different continents can meet, fall in love, get married, and build a real life together on two continents. I am grateful she laughs at most of my jokes and that, despite being a cat person, she has fallen in love with our puppies.

She has taught me how to hold hands. I know—most of us learn how to do that at a much earlier age, and so did I. But I lost the habit as I grew older. Holding hands, I thought, was for teenagers and young love. But in Brazil, no matter your age or stage of decrepitude, you hold hands. We hold hands wherever we go, and I have come to understand that it is a symbol of our connection. It turns two into one and reminds me every day that, through thick or thin, we are in this together. To quote the bard of New Jersey, “We swore we’d travel, darlin’, side by side. We’d help each other stay in stride.”

She has also taught me to walk slowly. Brazilians walk far more slowly than us gringos. And when we walk together, holding hands, she reminds me in her soft Brazilian lilt to slow down. And when I do,  I realize that my hurry was often for no reason at all. It was merely an excuse to check something off my to-do list faster. Slowing down, especially when I am here in Brazil and with her, allows me to take stock of the beauty around me and beside me. It gives me time to be grateful for where I am and whom I am with.

I am grateful for the perspective that Elaine provides. Unsurprisingly, we occasionally don’t see eye to eye on a subject. That is inevitable as we come from different countries and very different backgrounds. And my wife is an extremely smart, passionate woman who holds onto her well-thought-out opinions and feelings in the same way a miser might hold onto their wallet. Ninety-five percent of the time, we agree. I have been known to be stubborn in my beliefs as well. As a consequence, there are some subjects and issues on which we don’t agree and likely never will. Time and Elaine have taught me that embracing the fact that we have different opinions and allowing those differences to provide perspective, not dissonance, gives me a better understanding of an issue. It is a net positive—even if we cannot agree.

But above all, what I am most grateful for is Elaine. The miracle of our meeting gives me hope that, even when the world seems its darkest, dawn is not far off. Considering our world today, that is an awesome thing.

Brazil’s democracy is among the youngest in the world.

After decades of a repressive dictatorship, supported in part by the U.S., Brazil adopted its current constitution in 1988. It did not hold its first presidential election until 1989. Despite its relatively young experiment in democracy, there are a number of things that the “Verde e Amarelo” (Green and Yellow) gets right—things from which the red, white, and blue could learn a thing or two.

The U.S. Constitution is a short, concise document with only seven articles and twenty-seven amendments. It focuses on broad principles and allows the courts to interpret the rest. The Brazilian Constitution, on the other hand, is lengthy and highly detailed, with over 250 articles covering not only government structures but also social policies, economic regulations, and environmental protections. Less interpretation is needed, as it is black-letter law. You may argue that the founders of Brazil’s constitution went overboard, but at least their courts aren’t constantly tied up with constitutional questions, with the Supreme Court making rulings based on who last loaded the bench.

Speaking of the Supremes, in the U.S., justices of the highest court receive lifetime appointments. So does Brazil—with one key difference: mandatory retirement at age 75. This would mean that, in our case, Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito would need to retire, which would be beneficial—except for the current makeup of Congress and the occupant of the Oval Office.

Another judicial innovation in Brazil is its separate electoral court system. This body has absolute authority over all election issues. It consists of seven Supreme Court justices, two justices from the Superior Court of Justice, and two presidentially appointed justices. In practical terms, this means that all disputes and issues arising from elections are decided swiftly and decisively. For example, former President Jair Bolsonaro (2019-2023), sometimes called “The Trump of the Tropics,” was convicted of abuse of political power and misuse of government communication channels (sound familiar?) and is now banned from running for office until 2030. (I wish that sounded familiar.)

Speaking of elections, voting is mandatory. If you do not vote, a penalty is assessed on your income tax. In practical terms, this means that about 80% of Brazilians voted in the last presidential election, compared to just over 60% in 2024. Considering that the difference between Trump and Harris was a point and a half, this could have made all the difference between the chaos of today and the relative sanity of just a few months ago.

Brazil also elects its president directly. The candidate who wins the popular vote wins the election. Full stop. End of sentence. In our case, this means that George W. Bush and Donald Trump would never have served a first term as president. Imagine the alternate universe we’d be living in if that were the case.

The Brazilian Constitution also goes out of its way to protect the social rights of its citizens, including:

·         Right to Health — Universal and free healthcare, access to medicines, and vaccination programs. In other words, they believe healthcare is not just for the privileged and the rich.

·         Right to Education — Free public education at primary and secondary levels; compulsory schooling for children aged 4 to 17. Public universities are also free, and the constitution mandates funding for research and technology.

·         Right to Housing

·         Right to Work and Fair Wages — Minimum wage sufficient to cover basic needs, protections for overtime pay, vacations, maternity/paternity leave, severance, protection against arbitrary dismissal, and the right to unionize and strike.

·         Right to Social Security and Welfare — Includes pensions, disability benefits, unemployment insurance, and financial aid for the poor. Elderly and disabled citizens in extreme poverty receive financial assistance.

·         Right to Food

·         Right to Culture — Supports cultural diversity and protects Indigenous and Afro-Brazilian heritage.

·         Right to Leisure — The state must promote sports and recreation as part of quality of life.

·         Right to Environmental Protection

·         Right to Transport

And if you’re thinking, “The U.S. can’t afford that; it would bankrupt us all,” consider this: Brazil’s economy grew by 3.5% last year, and its budget deficit was just 0.36% of GDP. Meanwhile, the U.S. grew by 2.8%, and its debt was 6.4% of GDP. Perhaps if the U.S. implemented an effective minimum tax on multinationals earning over $140 billion or taxed billionaires at the same rate as secretaries, our budget deficits would be lower, and we could afford a social safety net as robust as Brazil’s.

Another element of the Brazilian Constitution that I admire is its free speech carve-outs. Speech that promotes discrimination based on ethnicity, race, religion, national origin, or sexual orientation is illegal. Fake news that threatens democracy, public health, or election integrity is illegal. Social media platforms can be held liable for spreading misinformation. Publicly insulting or desecrating religious beliefs, symbols, or places of worship is punishable under Brazilian law.

Americans pride themselves on free speech, as we should, but even in our Constitution, it is not an absolute right. If we want to address the destructive effects of misinformation, we should take a close look at Brazil’s laws and recognize the wisdom behind them.

But my favorite example of Brazilian democracy is what they call “democracia da praia” (the democracy of the beach). By law, there is no private ownership of beaches—they belong to the Navy, ensuring that everyone has equal access. Whether in Copacabana, Ipanema, Leblon, or Barra da Tijuca (where we live), the beach is a great social equalizer.

On the same stretch of sand, you might find wealthy executives, residents of favelas, street vendors, tourists, and surfers. People organize themselves not by wealth but by which team they love (Viva Botafogo!), what sports they play (surfing, volleyball, etc.), or which kiosk they like for drinking beer and playing cards. And from what this gringo can tell, everyone wears the same thing—men, regardless of age or body type, wear sungas (Speedos), while women, no matter their age or body type, wear bikinis with minimal fabric. There is democracy in semi-nakedness.

This beach democracy has birthed amazing things, including:

·         Frescobol — A fast-paced paddle game where cooperation, not competition, is key.

·         Footvolley — Volleyball played with soccer rules, a testament to Brazil’s dominance in the sport.

·         Bossa Nova music — Made world-famous by “Garota de Ipanema” (The Girl from Ipanema).

·         Havaianas flip-flops — Brazil may not have invented flip-flops, but they perfected them.

·         The Brazilian bikini — Originally from France, but perfected on Rio’s beaches.

Compare that to the “democracy” of private beaches—like Mar-a-Lago or Jeffrey Epstein’s island. Whatever music that is created there, it sure isn’t Bossa Nova. It makes you wonder what kind of democracy is being promoted there it sure as hell does not promote harmony and cooperation like Frescobol but turns it into a zero-sum game where the rich win and everyone else suffers. Those private beeches make a mockery of a government for and by the people and it turns into a government bought and paid for by the rich and the powerful. And the only flip-flops created there are coming from ambitious politicians anxious to suck at the teat of power who are there to bend the knee.

Personally, I prefer the democracy of the beach to the democracy of the wealthy, entitled, and powerful. But you be you.

We live in a quiet neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro, nestled in the shadow of Pedra da Gávea—the world’s tallest coastal monolith (2,769 feet)—and a cone-shaped granite dome (whose name I don’t know and, apparently, neither does anyone around here. I have asked.). The neighborhood, Jardim Itanhangá, translates roughly to “Garden of the Stone,” and its streets and homes are graced with stunning foliage, from golden acacias to orchids of every variety, from Emperor’s Scepters to Bismarck Palms. I could go on, but imagine a tropical forest, and you’ll get the idea.

Its fauna is just as diverse. Instead of squirrels, we have tamarin monkeys (an improvement), big-eared opossums (definitely uglier), hummingbirds, parakeets, egrets, bem-te-vis, and even the occasional capybara.

Needless to say, my usual 2.5-mile trek through the neighborhood is always scenic, interesting, and filled with the constant sense that I’ll discover something new around every bend.

This was never truer than yesterday.

Around mile two of my walk, directly adjacent to a trail leading up to Pedra da Gávea and near a playground for neighborhood children, sits the Wiz Mart. It’s a tiny, overly air-conditioned, self-serve market (a lifesaver for those moments when you realize you’re out of something but can’t summon the energy to trek to a store miles away). It carries everything from cleaning supplies to snacks, frozen dinners to ice cream, beer to Powerade. I stop there almost every day for a sports drink—and, if it’s particularly hot, an ice cream bar.

Yesterday, as I approached this little oasis, I was surprised to see two women emerging in full Carnival attire. One was dressed as an indigenous figure, wearing a thong, headress and a bikini-style top. The other was a samba dancer, complete with dazzling plumage and glittering—if not exactly modest—clothing.

While not entirely unexpected (a Carnival party was happening down the street), it was a noticeable departure from the usual neighborhood wildlife. And it made me realize something: despite having visited Brazil for thirteen years, being married to a Brazilian beauty for twelve, and having watched countless films depicting Carnival, I had no real understanding of what it was—beyond a massive party leading up to Lent. (And, if I’m being totally honest, due to my Hebraic heritage, my grasp of Lent is pretty rudimentary.)

So, I decided to educate myself.

According to my most reliable source, my wife, the predecessor to Carnival was a festival called Entrudo, which may have roots in the Roman festival Lupercalia, a mid-February fertility celebration involving masks, rituals, and street festivities. In Portugal, Entrudo was marked by rowdy street parties where people gleefully hurled water, flour, mud, and citrus fruits at each other. When the Portuguese colonized Brazil, they brought the festival with them, and it became particularly popular in Rio, Recife and Salvador. There, it evolved. The wealthy organized masked balls, while the lower classes continued the tradition of messy street battles. Over time, Entrudo blended with African and Indigenous cultural elements, incorporating new rhythms, dances, and instruments—eventually becoming what we now know as Carnival.

I also learned that Carnival’s meaning is derived from the phrase “without meat,” a reference to the fasting associated with Lent. The excesses of the celebration not only highlight the fleeting nature of worldly pleasures but also serve as a release of inhibitions before entering a more introspective and devout Lenten period. The masks, disguises, and costumes allow people to shed their social identities and embrace the personas they feel truly represent them.

Finally, Carnival is a time when rich and poor, young and old, Black, brown, or white, all come together. It aspires to create a sense of unity before the personal journey of Lent. It encourages forgiveness and reconciliation before entering a period of self-reflection.

All this learning made me think: Perhaps the time has come to bring Carnival to Washington, D.C.

It might serve as a reminder to those in our nation’s capital that the world is progressive in nature. Nothing stands still. What began as a Roman fertility festival, then transformed into a mud-rowing party, has evolved into a grand celebration that ultimately reflects Christianity’s most profound meaning.

It might remind those who have forgotten the fundamental promise of our country: E Pluribus Unum—Out of many, one. Just as Carnival arose from European, African, and Indigenous traditions, the United States is strongest when it embraces all of its citizens.  Carnival would not be the vibrant, joyous event it is without the contributions of different cultures. Similarly, the United States would not be the nation it is without the diverse communities that have made it their home.

Carnival is not about the rich or the poor. It is about connection. It unites people across socioeconomic lines. Our nation was founded as a democracy, not an oligarchy, where the poor and middle class are just as vital to our success as the wealthy, the powerful and elite.

Finally, it would serve as a constant reminder to the current occupant of the White House that forgiveness, reconciliation, and reflection are far more important than personal grudges, vendettas, or the pursuit of power

There is one downside to all of this. By tradition in Rio, the keys of the city are turned over to “King Momo” on Friday morning and serves as the King of Carnival until its conclusion on Tuesday night. By tradition, King Momo is tall and fat. Need I say more. We already have a tall, fat man who thinks he is King.